I dropped my keys on the little entry table that wobbled when you looked at it wrong and kicked off my shoes with a sigh.
The apartment wasn’t fancy, never had been, but it was mine.Two bedrooms, a narrow galley kitchen, one small bathroom, and a living room that was part rustic, part boho chaos.A tapestry my dad bought me when I was sixteen hung over the couch.Books stacked on side tables.A big cushy armchair in the corner with a quilt that smelled like lavender and dust.
It had its creaks, its scuffs, its quirks.But it was home.
I’d lived here my whole life.For the first twenty-six years, it had been with my dad.Now it’d been four years on my own.
Some nights, the silence hurt more than others.
I padded into the kitchen and filled a glass with cold water.The glass sweated in my hand as I leaned against the counter and stared out the window.
The bar sat on the corner of State Street and College.In summer, the crowd was a mix of locals, tourists, and working-class folks escaping the heat with cold beer.But once fall hit, the students flooded in.Loud, energetic, always broke.
I liked the rhythm of it.
But winter?
Winter was my favorite.
Snow covered the streets like powdered sugar.The chill in the air felt like a fresh start.Sure, it could be brutal with frozen pipes, slush, and bitter wind that cut right through your coat, but there was something honest about winter.No pretending.Just surviving.
I couldn’t imagine living somewhere that didn’t have seasons.
All sun, all heat, all year?No, thanks.
I finished my water, rinsed the glass, and set it in the sink.
Lights off.Apartment quiet.
Time for bed.
I peeled off my clothes and changed into my pajamas.Cotton shorts in a soft teal and a white tank top that had definitely seen better days but was too comfy to toss.
I piled my long black hair into a messy knot on top of my head, let out a breath, and crawled into bed.
The sheets were cool.My comforter soft.Everything familiar.
Outside, a motorcycle engine revved somewhere in the distance.
Not unusual.But this time, it made me think of Twister.
And that… was unusual.
Chapter Seven
Twister
Monday morning smelled like dust and concrete.
I stood in the middle of the warehouse with Swift, Wheels, Hodge, Podge, and Gramps, watching the real estate agent fumble with the lights like she’d never seen a switch before.
The place was colder than I remembered.Big, open, and echoing with every step.It had been a month since I first walked it solo, but now that I had my guys here, the space felt smaller.Not physically, hell, the building was huge, but with five patched members and a future riding on it, the walls felt like they were closing in.
“This is the main floor,” the agent said cheerfully, finally getting the flickering overhead fluorescents to sputter to life.“Two offices in the back, a reception area, and that corner was used as a waiting room by the last tenant.”
We followed her as she pointed toward a cluster of rooms in the far corner.Nothing about them screamedrage roomto me.Hell, they barely screamed useful.
The walls were drywall and thin.The carpet was stained.And the tile in the bathroom looked like it hadn’t seen bleach since Obama was in office.
